The Master of Death
by GreenInsomniaWriter
Summary: In 2.08, Dean trades his life for Evan Hudson and his father. When Sam finds out, he calls the Master of Death to drag Dean out of Hell. Whatever Sam expected, he didn't expect Harry. Harry, betrayed by the wizard world, has a 'screw-you-all' mood. Everyone knows that revenge is a dish best served cold, but Harry better hurry before revenge starts to rot. No slash. Warnings inside.
1. Prolouge

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or the Harry Potter Saga, and I (unfortunately) never will. All things recognizable belong to Eric Kripke (the creator of Supernatural) and J. K. Rowling (the authoress of the Harry Potter Saga). This disclaimer will suffice for the rest of the story.

**Story Info:** This story starts after Harry's defeat of Voldemort at age 17, so in mid 1998 (prologue). It then skips over a few years to episode "Crossroad Blues" in season 2, which takes place in November of 2006. I took some dialogue directly from Supernatural. This story is best read if you've seen episode 8 of season 2. Though it will be eventually stated what happens in this episode, you will be left quite confused for a while if you haven't seen the episode. Pairings (if any) are still undetermined.

**Warnings:** Major male/male making out later in story (maybe, but still undetermined), gore, Light-side bashing, Immortal!Super!Harry, spoilers, lots of other things that I don't have time to state. Follows series Supernatural at first, but will eventually become AU. To sum it all up, read with caution. This warning will suffice for the rest of the story.

* * *

**Prologue**

**Mid-July, 1998; Early Morning  
High-security Azkaban cell  
Azkaban Prison, in an island in the North Sea**

Harry sat shivering on the cold dirt floor of his cell. Though he had only been in Azkaban for a few weeks, the teen was pretty banged up. His unruly raven-colored hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and grime, his voice scratched and rough from screaming. Harry was a sickly grey color, and thin as a stick. His palms were bloody from where he had clutched his hands into fists. The tattered clothes the Dursleys had so _gratuitously_ gifted him with were now no more than rags that scarcely covered his body. He was muttering under his breath, part of him thinking what they did to him was for his own good, the other shouting that he didn't deserve what he was getting.

Finally, the latter of his mind won, and Harry stood unsteadily to his feet. He chuckled darkly under his breath. The Wizarding World was just a bunch of incompetent morons and hypocrites. First, they congratulate him, thank him, and all that nonsense for doing something that his mother, Lily Potter, had done for him, that he himself couldn't even remember! Oh, and while they are obsessing themselves with him, Harry has to deal with Voldemort, someone who most wizards and witches are afraid to even mutter the name of. Honestly, how did they expect an eleven year old to protect them from Voldemort, when they, fully-grown wizards, couldn't do so themselves?

It was pathetic.

And, just as suddenly as they call him a hero, Harry is then a laying, attention-seeking brat. Still, Harry deals with it, while that idiot Minister of Magic, Fudge (Harry spat at the thought of his name) does nothing to prepare the world against Voldemort, until it is too late. Then, Harry is again believed and, once again, becomes a hero. Of course, after Harry kills the snake-bastard for them, they chuck him in Azkaban for using an Unforgiveable. They literally chucked him in Azkaban; the Aurors had dragged him out of bed (or cupboard, he should say) in the middle of the night, while the Dursleys stood by and cheered them on, and threw him in a cell. They didn't even have the grace to give him a trial.

Well, no more. This time around, Harry wasn't going down without a fight.

Harry held out his hand. Suddenly, a long, fifteen inch stick flew in through the bars of Harry's cell. The wand bore carvings that resembled clusters of elderberries running down its length. A ring flew onto his pointer finger. The stone of the ring was triangular and obsidian colored. A picture of the Deathly Hallows was branded onto the stone. With a slight flare, a sparkling cloak settled onto Harry's shoulders before Harry's body became invisible. Smirking, Harry pulled the hood up with his free hand, his head becoming invisible along with his body.

A figure clad in a suit appeared before Harry, his face looking pale and old. Getting on his knees, the figure bowed, its nose touching the ground. Harry, surprised by the figure, asked him he who was.

"I am Death, master," the figure replied, looking as if the words pained him. Harry quirked his eyebrow; master?

Understanding Harry's confusion, Death proceeded to elaborate. "Just now, you have in your possession the three Deathly Hallows. You accepted them. The Cloak of Invisibility, Resurrection Stone, and Eldruhn Wand then, deeming you worthy to be the Master of Death, in turn accepted you, thus making you the Master of Death.

"What are my responsibilities as the Master of Death?" Harry asked, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

"If someone were to summon me, you would have to answer and negotiate with them before I am allowed to do or accept anything, master," Death said. "From time to time, spirits that had wished to remain in the mortal world instead of crossing over cause trouble; you must coax them to go to the afterworld. If they refuse, then you must use force, master."

This "master" thing was bothering Harry; did Death have to say "master" at the end of every sentence when addressing him? Instead of making his thoughts known, Harry said, "Do I have any abilities?"

"You are in control of me, master. Until another, if another, gains control of the Hallows, I can and will answer to only you," Death said, his face impassive. "You, master, are immortal, and will remain so, unless another gains the Hallows. Though you may get killed, master, you will awake once your cause of death has been terminated, whether it be ailment or wound. Although you are immortal, you are required to eat so that your body has energy, master. Of course, you will not die of old age, for you cannot age.

"To address your abilities, you have all the abilities that I do, and more, master. You can put a stopper to death, master, and vise versa. All dementors and reapers must obey you, master. When a dementor or reaper suck the soul of someone, you have the option to, for a lack of better word, copy the knowledge that person has known into yourself."

The "master" thing was honestly getting on his nerves.

"You have the power of necromancy, master, and to bring a soul back to the mortal world. Also, you will be able to keep all your abilities as a wizard," Death finished.

Harry grinned lopsidedly; with all his new abilities, Harry could escape the Wizarding World! Harry had always wanted to see the States. . . .

* * *

Wow, long prologue, almost 1,000 words. Anyway, the first chapter is up. If you see any mistakes, notice me by reviewing or sending me a PM.


	2. Chapter One: Crossroad Blues

**Chapter One: Crossroad Blues**

**Early November, 2006; Nighttime  
Crossroads outside Lloyd's Bar  
Greenwood, Mississippi**

Dean was crouched over in the center of the crossroads, digging into the ground with his hands. Finding a small box, he leaves the vial of graveyard dirt and the black cat bone in place, instead taking out the black-and-white picture of a widely smiling Robert Johnson. A torn ID card with Dean's impassive face was placed into the box, and put back into the hole in the ground. Scraping dirt over box, Dean stood up.

A beautiful young woman in a black dress appears behind him. The brunette woman smiled, saying, "So, what brings a guy like you to a place like this?" Dean looked at her appraisingly. When Dean didn't answer, she said, "You called me?"

Dean plastered a fake smile over his face. "I'm just glad it worked."

The woman nodded knowingly. "First time?"

"You could say that," Dean said, mentally smirking.

"Oh, come on now," the brunette said. "Don't sell yourself short. I know all about you, Dean Winchester." The woman's browns eyes turned a bright crimson, glowing in the dark night, before quickly changing back to a doe brown.

"So, you know who I am."

The demon's meat suit smirked. "I got the newsletter."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," Dean said. "What have you heard?"

"Well," the demon said, evading the question, "I heard you were handsome, but you're just edible." The demon smirked. "What can I do far you Dean?"

"Maybe we should do this in my car; nice and private." Dean mentally winced at the thought of putting his baby, the Impala, in any sort of danger.

The demon shrugged, indifferent. "Sounds good to me." The two began strolling towards the Impala.

Reaching the sleek, black car, Dean began, "So, I was hoping we could strike a deal."

"That's what I do," the demon replied.

Brief thoughts of asking for his father crossed his mind, but Dean quickly dismissed them. He had to go with the plan. "I want Evan Hudson released from his contract."

The demon pretended to consider. "Hmm. So sorry, darling; that's not negotiable."

Dean walked closer to the demon's meat suit. "I'll make it worth your while."

"Oh really?" the demon simpered. "What are you offering?"

"Me."

The demon smirked. "Well, well, well. You'd sacrifice your life for someone else's. Like father, like son."

Dean eyed the woman warily. What did she know about his father?

The demon smirked once again, deciding to play with Dean. "You did know about your dad's deal, right? His life for yours? Oh, I didn't make the deal myself, but . . . boy, I wish I had." Dean gritted his teeth and opened the passenger side door to the Impala.

"After you."

"Such a gentleman." As the demon started to get into the car, she glanced down and saw the edge of a symbol extending from below the car. The white chalk looked fresh. Dean mentally smirked; this was going well.

"A Devil's Trap? You've got to be kidding me," the demon said, quickly getting away from the circle. "You stupid, stupid . . . I should rip you limb from limb," the demon seethed. She slammed the car door shut and advanced on Dean, who then backed up against a wooden structure.

"Take your best shot," Dean said, his tone pleading more than defiant.

"No," the demon said, seeming to change her mind, "I don't think so. I'm not going to put you out of your misery."

"Yeah? Why not?" Dean asked, still backing up towards the wooden structure.

The demon smirked. "Because your misery's the whole point. It's too much fun to watch. Knowing how your daddy died for you, how he sold his soul. I mean, that's gotta hurt." Dean is now backed up against a wooden railing. "It's all you ever think about. You wake up and your first thought is, "I can't do this anymore." You're all lit up with pain. I mean, you loved him so much. And it's all your fault."

Dean recoiled as she got more in his face. "You blew it, Dean! I could have given you what you need."

Dean swallowed. "What do I need?"

"Your father," the demon stated. "I could have brought him back. Your loss. See ya, Dean. I wish you a nice, long life." She then started walking away.

"Hold on," Dean said, reaching out towards the demon.

The demon stops, smiling, and turns back around; Dean is standing beneath the wooden structure, his head down. "You're lucky I've got a soft spot for lost puppies and long faces. I just can't leave you like this. Besides, you didn't call me here to bargain for Evan, not really." The demon smiled; finally, she was getting another deal!

"Can you bring him back? My dad?" Dean asked, his voice imitating that of a lost little boy.

"Of course I can, just as he was. Your dad would live a long and natural life, like he was meant to. That's a promise," the demon replied.

"What about me?"

"I could give you ten years, ten long good years with him," the demon said. "That's a lifetime. The family can be together again. John, Dean, Sammy. The Winchester boys all reunited." She advanced towards Dean. "Look, your dad's supposed to be alive. You're supposed to be dead. So we'll just set things straight, put things in their natural order. And you get ten extra years on top. That's a bonus." The demon is very close to him; Dean turned and walked farther back.

"You think you could . . ." Dean said, trailing off. He turned to face her, ". . . throw in a set of steak knives?"

The demon took a few steps forward. "You know, this smart-ass self-defense mechanism of yours . . ." Suddenly, the demon looked up; a Devil's Trap. Stepping back, Dean's hope quickly terminated; that was his last idea, his last plan in case the demon didn't fall for the Devil's Trap under his car.

"You know, Dean, you're a naughty, naughty boy," the demon said. "So, do you want the deal or not?" Dean gulped; should he? "Oh, come on. You know it's the right thing to do. You should have died already, Dean. Twice, in fact. Your father shouldn't have. He should've lived a long, normal life." The demon said, baiting Dean. "He died for you, and I'm giving you a chance to set things straight."

Looking defiant, Dean said, "Alright."

The demon blinked; she hadn't thought it would be that easy to get Dean to crack. "But," Dean said, "I want Evan Hudson released from his contract."

"I said it already, honey; that's not negotiable," the demon said, turning to go.

"Wait! What if . . . what if I give you my life now? Not in ten years, but now?" Dean asked.

The demon narrowed her eyes. "That could work. . . . Fine, Dean Winchester; your life now for John Winchester and Evan Hudson's." Leaning down into Dean, the man suddenly said, "Wait!"

"What now?" the demon asked irritated.

"I . . . I want to leave Sam a message. Tell him I've traded. So he won't look for me," Dean said.

The demon quickly thought this over; what could she lose? There was no way Sam could get Dean out of Hell. "Fine."

Dean slowly walked towards the Impala, opened the passenger door, and got a pen. He quickly wrote '_Traded my life for Hudson's and Dad's. DON'T look for me!'_ on the corner of a map and ripped it off. Handing the piece of paper to the demon, Dean got ready for what was coming to him. The demon leaned down and softly kissed Dean on the lips. Just as suddenly, Dean started hearing loud barking. As the gigantic black dog started clawing at him, Dean threw a bottle of holy water at the demon, and watched as the demon started sizzling, hissing out in pain.

Dean's last words were "Payback, bitch" before he disappeared from sight.

Black ichors shot out of the demon's meat suit, spiraling upwards than towards the ground. The girl slumped to the ground. "What . . . how did I get here?" She looked around at the empty clearing, and briefly wondered whose dress she was wearing and why it was so wet before standing up and rushing away.

* * *

Evan Hudson sighed in relief. The chaotic barking had stopped, the wind ceased. They had barely made it. The room was askew, papers on the floors, black goofer dust in every corner of the room. Chairs were overturned, picture frames on shelves shattered. The office was a mess.

"Did it stop? Is the hellhound gone?" Sam asked moments later, still inside the circle of goofer dust.

Hudson nodded, warily stepping outside the circle. When nothing happened, Hudson then gave out a small joyous laugh, before muttering, "I'm alive! I'm alive!" repeatedly. Deciding to leave the poor man alone to get over the shock, Sam then exited Hudson's home, planning on searching for Dean.

When Sam reached the crossroad near Lloyd's Bar, Dean was nowhere in sight. Seeing the Impala in the distance, Sam began to run, his anxiety worsening. Dean had always given Sam grief over his long limbs, but he was glad for them now, for they helped him to run faster. Pumping his arms and legs, Sam quickly made it to the car.

Approaching the sleek, black, Impala, Sam was very worried to find Dean nowhere near the car. He became even more so when he noticed the passenger door open. Cautiously entering the car, Sam was shocked and scared out of his wits at what he found.

His father was alive.

* * *

Ha ha! Cliffhanger! I totally love torturing you guys! *Smiles cheekily* Don't _worry. _Chapter Two will be up soon (within this month).

So, please review, tell me your thoughts, and if you see any mistakes, alert me as soon as you can so I can fix it. Thanks!

**Important request:** Because the pairings for this story is still undecided, I want you guys to tell me which pairing you want the most (review or PM). Whether there will be lemon or not is undetermined, but it would be appreciated if you told me whether you want lemon or no.


	3. Chapter Two: The Summoning

I'm super happy because I just watched the season two finale, and I get to start season three! (I know that, while you guys are watching season seven, I'm on season three because I just started watching Supernatural about two months ago on Netflix.)

I love the response in reviews I got for the last chapter! Go reviewers! More reviews & feedback = a SUPER happy author!

**This is the voting so far for pairings:**  
Dean/Harry: 4  
Michael/Harry: 1  
Gabriel/Harry: 1  
Death/Harry: 1  
Sam/Harry: 1

little-bast: thanks for your suggestions, or rather questions; they gave me lots of ideas for the story. I won't answer any of your questions, because I like to keep you guys in suspense. If you _really_ want to know, I'll PM you.  
SeulWolfe: I don't know about the opening of the seals yet, because I haven't gotten that far in the show. As I stated above, I only just finished season two, and I'm started season three. And what about Cas? Which one are you talking about? The angel Cas that I've read so much about, or the black woman Dean was serious about?  
flamenin: Death? Hmmm . . . A Death/Harry story. Now that would be something to read . . .  
Serenita Kou: Gay-ish? Seriously?  
SkylerBlack: Dean as a sub? Ha, that would be amusing. I always thought of Dean as the dominant one, but, I'll think about it. And, even though Harry's the "all-powerful, super, and immortal" person, it doesn't mean he acts like it. Oh, and please, please fix your grammar. It was a pain to read.  
UniCryin: Don't worry, I'll clear things up in a few (chapters).  
To everyone else that reviewed, but I didn't feel like responding to because I'm lazy, and you're basically just telling me to update ASAP: Thanks for telling me how great my story is! (I already knew it was totally awesome, but it's great to have you guys confirm it) and I'm updating as soon as I edit and write chapter.

Now, without further ado, drum roll please . . . chapter two!

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Summoning**

**Early November, 2006; Nighttime  
Crossroads near Lloyd's Bar  
Greenwood, Mississippi**

His father is alive. John Winchester, father of Sam and Dean Winchester, husband to the deceased Mary Winchester, is back from the dead. Alive.

How is that even possible? Last time Sam saw his father, John's dead corpse was being burned! And yet, here he was, alive and breathing in the back seat of the Impala. Sam didn't know how much time had passed with him staring at his father; what felt like days to Sam was only a few seconds in actuality. Suddenly, his brain caught up with reality; John Winchester is back. That must mean Dean offered himself for Hudson and their Dad. . . .

Dean! The demon had taken him!

Not knowing what else to do, Sam scrambled into the backseat of the Impala, and shook his father awake franticly.

"Come on, get up!" Sam murmured, shaking John awake.

As John began to stir, it occurred to Sam that this might not actually be his father. This might just be some sick, sick trick. Pulling out a bottle of holy water from under the back seat, Sam splashed it onto John's chest. Except John's clothing getting wet, nothing happened.

Still, Sam couldn't take any chances. Remembering that holy water didn't work on high level demons, Sam pulled a gun out from inside his jacket, cocking it. John Winchester awoke to the sight of his youngest pointing a gun in his face.

* * *

**Early November, 2006; Evening  
Bobby's house  
Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

It was now in the evening, having driven nearly a thousand miles to get from Greenwood, Mississippi to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Sam was quite tired. Pulling the Impala into Bobby Singer's driveway, Sam was instantly relieved. Driving a hot-wired car that belongs to your missing brother with you father (that it tied up in the backseat) for sixteen hours is just plain awkward.

Stepping out the Impala, Sam went to the backseat to get his father (_Or what might be my father,_ Sam thought). Bobby, hearing the Impala's purr rushed out to greet Sam. The hunter quickly got John from the backseat and rushed the resurrected man into his house. Sam followed.

Once inside the house, Sam was handed a shot glass with holy water. Knowing this to be a tradition of Bobby's to check everyone that entered his house with holy water, Sam quickly emptied the cup, handing the glass back to Bobby. When Bobby was sure that Sam was not possessed by some demon, he went to interrogate John in the living room.

Tipping holy water into John's mouth, for John was still tied up, Bobby watched as John swallowed the liquid with no effect. Bobby then proceeded to ask John questions, questions that John answered without hesitancy. The question lasted for about half an hour, before Bobby was certain that John was John. Sam, having not eaten since yesterday, was quite hungry; as was John, having just come back from the dead less than a day ago.

Bobby was quick to offer the two men food. Letting father and son eat in silence, Bobby did nothing himself except watch the two. Once John and Sam were finished, Bobby blew up in John's face.

"What the hell were you thinking, ya idjit? Trading your life for Dean's? How did you think Dean would react? How did you think Sam would react? They could've gone and killed themselves over their grief for you, for all you knew!" Bobby's voice increased in volume as he got madder. "AND WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING, MAKIN' DEALS WITH DEMONS, YA IDJIT! HOW COULD YA? YA WERE MISSIN' FOR MONTHS, AND YER BOYS JUST FIND YA! AND WHAT DO YA DO? YA GO AND GET YOURSELF KILLED!" Bobby calmed down, his voice getting softer, but still quite loud. "And guess what, ya idjit? Dean, the boy ya traded your life for, he goes and makes a deal with some demon! He traded his life for yours!"

John, haven taken Bobby's rant about him being an "idjit" quite calmly, exploded when he heard about Dean. "He what?" John turned to Sam, whom had been silent. "Is, is this true?"

Sam didn't meet his father's eyes, caught between being glad his father was alive, and mad for causing them such grief. "It hasn't been confirmed, but I'm quite sure that's what he did," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper.

John promptly exploded again, ranting about his eldest being an idiot. Sam decided to leave the two men there. He needed to rest; he'd been through a lot today.

Besides, he had a plan to get Dean back. And no one is going to stop him.

* * *

Sam crept downstairs. It was two in the morning, and Sam was vaguely reminded of when he was a kid and slipped out the motel to buy Dean's birthday present: a chocolate bar. Bobby and John had argued themselves asleep, both sleeping on a couch. Creeping into the basement, Sam was careful to not step on any of the creaky steps. He held in one hand a bag; things needed for his ritual.

Finding an open spot, Sam went over his things, making sure he had everything ready.

*Sam drew a perfect circle on the ground with the red chalk. Then, he added thirty-six straight lines that represented the degrees (360°) in a circle, accenting the 0°, 90°, 180°, and 270° lines. Sam checked over his work, making sure everything was in place; the ritual wouldn't work if everything wasn't perfect. Fixing some things here and there, Sam looked at the chalk appraisingly. The circle now looked like a crimson wheel. Hands dirty with chalk, Sam wiped his hands off on his jeans. Retrieving the two white and black candles, he placed the white candle on the 45° angle and the black candle on the 135° angle. Sam then took a match and lit each of the candles. Taking a crow bone, Sam placed it precisely between the two candles.

Now ready for the summoning ritual, Sam stepped carefully inside the circle to not smudge the chalk, and sat down into a lotus position, first putting his left foot onto his opposite thigh, so that the sole faced upwards. Sam then maneuvered his right foot onto his opposite thigh in the same manner. The long-limbed boy looked as if were meditating. Closing his eyes, Sam began to chant in Latin, the words memorized:

** "Voco tibi, Mora. Quaero tui adducere caelum, Dean Winchester. Mora, audi mei accitus!" (Translation: I call you, Death. I ask you to bring to the world, Dean Winchester. Death, hear my calls!) The two candles flared before returning to normal.

Opening his eyes, Sam blew out each candle simultaneously, then proceeded to sit in the circle, waiting.

Only moments later, a boy appeared out of nowhere. He looked to be about fourteen or thirteen, and had unruly raven-colored hair, his eyes an emerald green. Sam thought him breathtaking. The boy stumbled, one hand clutching a book, the other in his back pocket, as if to pull something out. Looking around, Harry looked irritable when he saw the candles and red circle on the ground. Opening a pouch tied to his belt, Sam was astonished to see the book being swallowed into the small bag, even though the book was easily three times the bag's size.

"What do you want?"

Sam mentally shook himself. "Excuse me?"

"What do you want? I was in the middle of reading _Oliver Twist_, and I want to continue, if you don't mind," the boy repeated, looking exasperated.

"Uh, who are you?" Sam asked. Was this Death?

Seeming to read Sam's thoughts, the boy replied, "No, Sam, I'm not Death. I'm Death's master, but my name is Harry Potter. Call me the latter, if you please." Sam didn't say anything again, and stood gaping at Harry in shock. How did this boy know his name? How could someone only in his teens be the Master of Death? Harry huffed, seeming to have heard the latter part of Sam's thoughts. "Why do they always look surprised? What, did you expect some old, wrinkly old man in a black robe carrying a scythe? Well, I am indeed Death's master, and I'd appreciate it if you would just tell me what you want so I can get back to my book!"

"Uh . . ." Sam opened and closed his mouth, gaping like a fish. Finally, he seemed to regain his senses. "Uh, can you get someone out of Hell for me?"

Harry nodded knowingly; they always wanted him to bring someone back. "So, you want me to get one Dean Winchester out of Hades?"

Sam looked at Harry, astonished. "How did you – "

"You said, quite clearly, in your ritual 'Rogo te referre adducet Decani Wintoniensis ad mundi viventium' or 'I ask you to bring to the world, Dean Winchester,'" Harry replied. "Fine, one Dean Winchester, coming up."

Harry popped away with a loud crack. About ten minutes passed, and Sam began to worry. Suddenly, Harry popped back, a limp Dean Winchester in his arms. Sam rushed to his brother, but Harry's single hand stopped him.

Harry placed a hand on Dean's chest, the ring on his finger touching his heart. A faint glow was seen around Dean's body. Opening the pouch on his waist with one hand, Harry pulled out a bright white orb. Sam turned away, the light blinding him. Harry then placed the soul back into Dean's chest. Blinking his sun spots away, Sam turned to find Dean awake and fully functioning.

Dean looked around, trying to regain his senses, before he jumped up, knocking skulls with Harry. While the boy seemed unaffected, Dean held a hand to his forehead, moaning. "Ow," Dean groaned. "How did that not hurt?" Dean asked, directing the question to Harry.

"I'm used to it."

Suddenly, Dean seemed aware that he was talking to a total stranger. "Who are you?" Dean asked, looking around in search of a weapon.

Sam found it the right time to interrupt. "No, he's alright Dean. He's who got you out of Hell."

Dean whirled around to see Sam. At that moment, they heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

It was Bobby and John.

* * *

Another cliffhanger. Sorry, but it had to be done.

* I just wanted to say, the ritual that Sam did was made up by me, using Wikipedia. This is why I did what I did with the ritual:

The circle that looked like a wheel drawn in red chalk:  
· I used red chalk because red is the color of blood, and blood essentially gives us life, but blood is associated with death because it usually only spills when near death.  
· I used the wheel, because in Buddhism, the symbol of a wheel represents the perpetual cycle of death and rebirth that happens in samsara (the eternal cycle of birth, suffering, death, and rebirth.)  
· The wheel had 36 lines inside because each line stood for 10° in a full 360° circle  
· Life is an unending circle of birth and death. Also, 36=4×9; _nine_ is considered a good number in Chinese culture because it sounds the same as the word "long-lasting". The Chinese, Vietnamese, the Korean and the Japanese are superstitious about the number _four_ because it is a homonym for "Death" in their languages.

Crow bone:  
· Crows are associated with death because they feed on carrion.

Sam's lotus position with his right leg over his left:  
· In a skull and crossbones, the right bone is crossed over the right.  
· When dressing a dead body in a kimono for a funeral, the right side is wrapped over the left.  
· Essentially, right over left is death.

White and black candles:   
· Black is the color of mourning in many European cultures.  
· In East Asia, white is similarly associated with mourning.  
· Candles allude to death because it will eventually burn itself out (everyone will eventually die, or "burn themselves out").

** The Latin that Sam spoke was arranged for me by LatinBookReader. Thanks to them!

Thanks for reading! "Chapter Three: Hi, I'm Death's Master" will be up soon.


	4. Chapter Three: Hi, I'm Death's Master

Hello. Updating again. The last chapter was the last chapter I had saved up, so it will be awhile before my next update after this. Maybe half a month, maybe a whole month. Because you guys hate the cliffhangers so much, I'll try not to use so many for the end of my chapters. Oh, and I'm up to season six now! Wooh! I'm caught up on the apocalypse thing, Michael, Lucifer, Gabriel, etc. etc. now! From now on I'll try to update at least twice a month.

**Alrighty, the winner is Harry/Dean!** For now at least. I have plans for a different paring later in the story.

Alec McDowell: Of course there's a consequence. What am I stupid? (Don't answer that.) It's just that Harry is higher up on the food chain then most of the other demons, even Yellow-eyes, so the consequences don't affect him much. As for Harry's childlike form, that will be explained in later chapters.  
Susa: Thanks for the correction; I've fixed it.  
kirallie: What? Is it cool now to do only one word reviews? Seriously? You didn't even punctuate!  
Serenita Kou: Yep, it's going fast. I'm slowing it down.  
little-bast: What, are you only talking in questions? Are you expecting me to answer your questions? If you are, maybe I'll think about the plot a bit and PM you, alright? Are you noticing that I'm only talking in questions? There are a lot of question marks, right?  
To everyone else: Thanks for reviewing! Keep it up, and even though I'm not responding to you all individually, I'm reading your reviews! Thanks to you all!

* * *

**Chapter Three: Hi, I'm Death's Master**

**Early November, 2006; 2:50 AM  
Bobby's house  
Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Bobby and John stumbled down the stairs quietly, still half asleep. The two had heard talking and loud cracks in the basement, and decided to investigate. John and Bobby, both with a gun in hand, were surprised to see Sam hovering near a raven-haired teen. What shocked the two the most was what, or rather who, the teen was hovering over: Dean?

"Dean?" John asked, dropping the gun to the floor, approaching his eldest son.

Dean smiled in a fatigued way. "In the flesh," he replied.

Before John could get anymore closer to Dean, Bobby quickly pulled a small canteen of holy water out of his pocket and splashed Dean on the face. Face dripping wet, Dean spit out some of the water that had gotten in his mouth, giving Bobby a slightly annoyed look. "Thanks Bobby. It's good to see you too." The sarcasm was evident in his voice.

Not replying, Bobby grabbed Dean's arm towards him and made a shallow gash on his upper arm. Startled, Dean managed to punch the older hunter in the nose, before realizing it to be a test. John and Sam stood nearby, silent. Seeming to be satisfied that Dean was actually Dean, Bobby let go of said hunter's arm. Meanwhile, Harry sat on the floor, nose buried in that book of his again. He seemed to be oblivious of what was going around him. Of course, Harry's reading was soon interrupted by Bobby jerking him up to his feet, and splashing him with the holy water. That didn't bode very well.

Scowling, Harry dried off his book with a quick flick of his hand, which had been caught in the crossfire. He then dried himself off, before turning and punching Bobby square in the face. The crunch of bone being broken was clearly heard. While Booby cradled his nose, Harry put his book _Oliver Twist _back into his sack, muttering. "Americans are a bunch of imbeciles. Don't they know never to interrupt a bloke when he's reading?" Harry tucked the book in his pouch and turned around to Bobby, who was cupping his nose.

"Can I leave now?" Harry asked, irritated.

Bobby gave Harry a hard look. "Not until you tell us who you are, what the hell you are, and why you brought back Dean."

"Well, it seems I neglected to introduce myself. Hi, I'm Harry Potter and I'm the master of Death." Harry chuckled at the disbelief on their faces. "As for what I am," Harry looked at the others oddly. "Well, I'm genetically human. I brought back Dean 'cause it would save us a whole lot of trouble. Happy now? Can I leave?" Bobby's glare was an obvious "no".

Dean snorted at Harry's former answer. "Human? Yeah right. Humans can't resurrect people."

"Fine, I'm wizard, warlock, whatever you call it. I'm still human though."

Dean stared at Harry in disbelief. "You're a freakin' witch?" Dean asked, turning to Sam. "You called a demon-worshipped to come and resurrect me? What, did you trade your soul for me too, Sammy? Why did you do – "

"He's not a witch, Dean," Sam interrupted.

Dean turned back to Harry. "Then what the hell are you?"

"Like I said, I'm a wizard, and – "

"So you _are _a witch!" Dean exclaimed accusingly. "What, do you worship some demon? What did you have to do to get your magic, huh? Drink baby blo – "

"No, you idiot. I was born with my powers. It's in my blood." Harry glared at Dean. "Now that Mr. Jump-To-Conclusions has finished, get on with the questions, so I can get outta here and finish my book."

Sam was the next to speak. "How would resurrecting Dean save us the trouble? What do you get out of it?"

"Nothing, really – I just, I just didn't want Dean to crack and start it. It's too early."

Sam's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Too early for what?"

"Nothing, just – just forget it, alright?" Harry crossed his arms. "Besides, I just dragged your brother out of the pit; you should be thanking me, not interrogating me."

"Yeah well, I'll be thanking ya if you mean us no harm," said Bobby, who had stayed silent throughout the conversation. "And until we're satisfied that you're not a monster, you're staying with us." Grasping Harry's wrist tightly, Bobby stood up with Harry in a tow. "John, seeing as you keep eyein' Dean, I'll let you two work things out. And Sam, clean up that mess you made." With that, Bobby dragged Harry into the panic room, and threw him inside, before quickly getting out and locking the door.

"Now, seeing as Sam decided to wake us all up at an ungodly hour, I'll be getting back to sleep." Bobby glared at Sam. "If any of ya idjits wake me up, I'll make you sleep outside."

* * *

Inside the panic room, Harry huffed. Damned Sam Winchester. Stupid ritual. Trying to open the door, Harry found it locked (Harry mentally berated himself. _Well, duh!_). Taking out his Elder wand, Harry tried casting an alohomora. Brow furrowing when it didn't work, Harry tried again, and again, until he finally gave up and tried apparating. That didn't seem to work either. Looking around the room, Harry found no other exits. Cursing, Harry took a deep breath and sat down on the cot. Seeing as there was nothing else to do, Harry settled for reading his book.

Damned Sam Winchester.

* * *

There. I updated. It was short though. All well.


	5. Chapter Four: Can I Go Now?

Okay, so there have been a lot of PMs and reviews about why Harry didn't just kick their asses into next week; after all, he is the Master of Death, right? However, there is a reason why Harry wasn't able to leave. No, the Panic Room cannot hold Harry, but his was a special circumstance. Something was interfering with Harry's magic, and I say "something" because I don't want any spoilers. You will find out later in the plot, because this story actually has a plot, and I don't want to ruin it. So there. *Sticks out tongue childishly*

Also, while I said this will be a Harry/Dean fic, I think that there will be no romance in this story. Perhaps the occasional one-night stand, but nothing else. Romance is not the main thing in this story. Maybe later, but not now.

Oh, and so sorry for the very long wait, but school has started and I'm being ambushed with homework. You guys should probably know by now that I'm an irregular updater. I'm trying to make chapters longer and updated more frequently, but I'll probably fail. So yeah. And I desperately need a beta, so if any of you are up for the job, please PM me or put it in a review or whatever.

And remember that this story is AU. Harry will be OOC, and I might not get all the personalities of Sam, Dean, Bobby, John, etc. down.

Without further ado, Chapter Four!

* * *

**Chapter Four: Can I Go Now?**

**November, 2006; 8:30 AM  
Bobby's House  
Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

"You know, I think this is called kidnapping. If you hadn't already known, kidnapping is illegal," Harry said, lowering his book and dog-earing the page. Because he hadn't slept, the raven-haired boy had made great progress with _Oliver Twist_, just a few chapters until the end. Harry had Dean and John's petty screaming and shrieking to blame for his insomnia. They had spent the first few hours after his kidnapping shouting at each other, until it finally got quiet around four a.m. By then, Harry could no longer asleep. Sitting upright on the cot, Harry cocked his head to the side at Sam. "I'm pretty sure that the police won't take kindly to you abducting a thirteen-year-old child."

Sam didn't answer, seeming content to stare at Harry from the doorway.

"Oh. So you're a pedo too. Can't really blame you though; I _do_ look good." Harry smirked as Sam scowled, but didn't make a move towards him.

"What, you're not going to torture me for answers? I thought me captives would be more fun than this. Staring at me won't really do anything," Harry said, eyes flashing with satisfaction when Sam balled his hands into fists. "You should start getting out the thumb screws and hang me by my toes until I give you what you want."

Tucking his book into the little pouch on his waist, Harry leaned back into a relaxed position on the cot. "What _do_ you want, Sam?" Harry said, staring at the ceiling. Getting a small ball from his poach, Harry proceeded to toss the ball back and forth. "I got you your brother, didn't I? _I resurrected him. _Isn't that what you called me here for?"

Harry frowned at the ceiling when Sam didn't respond. A small sigh escaped Harry's lips as he tossed the ball around. _Up, and down, up, and down. _Pushing his frustration away, Harry continued on talking, hoping to get something out of the Winchester. "Aw, now isn't that cute? Sammy Boy's giving me the silent treatment. What, did I make poor Sammy-kins mad?"

From the doorway, Sam uttered four words at last. "Don't call me Sammy."

Harry grinned in triumph. "And he finally speaks! I was beginning to think that a cat's gotten your tongue." Harry smiled cheekily. "Too bad you used your entire vocabulary in one sentence."

Sam pushed off of the doorway and closed the door behind him. Walking towards Harry, he stood a few feet from the cot and swiped the ball from Harry as it as being tossed in the air. Sitting upright, Harry pouted. "Aw. You're such a buzz-kill."

"I keep telling him that. He never listens."

Eyes darting towards the entrance, Harry saw Dean standing at the exit.

As he spread his arms wide as if in an embrace, Harry said mockingly, "Welcome, welcome! I finally got your brother to speak. So you can call up a family reunion to celebrate Sammy's first words!"

Dropping his hands, Harry eyed the two Winchesters. "So, can I go now?" Standing up from the cot, Harry continued, "Waiting here has become quite tedious. And since you're not going to torture me or something, I think I'll go now…" Not waiting for an answer, Harry started walking towards the only exit, only to stop midway and groan. Cursing under his breath, Harry turned to Sam. "What else do you want? I gave you Dean, didn't I? I freaking _resurrected him_! I have fulfilled my part. Now what else do you want?"

Dean stepped forward. "I want to know why you resurrected me."

"Because, you dimwit, your brother asked me to. He called me here, did some god-dammed ritual, and asked me to save your sorry ass." Harry glared at the Winchesters. "Are we done here?"

Dean frowned. "No, I want to know why you pulled me out of the pit, and how you did it. Nothing's ever done anything we hunters have asked, so why did you?" As an afterthought, Dean added, "And how did you manage to pull me out anyways? Nothing with that much power can do what you did."

"Um, hello? I'm the Master of Death here," Harry said. "What do you think that implies? Not only do I escort people to the afterlife, I can also bring them back."

"So, what? Did you resurrect me just for kicks?" Dean asked.

Harry groaned in frustration. "Okay, you know what? I've been repeating myself over and over again, and you can't seem to grasp the simple fact that I did you a freakin' favor! I save your life, and then you don't thank me, but you decide to trap me in a metal box!" Harry turned to Sam. "Please, can I just go now?" His voice was almost pleading. "I'm the Master of Death! I have things to do, people to escort to the afterlife! Every second I'm here, there's a chance that someone doesn't die like their supposed to! And then the whole 'natural balance' thing gets messed up, and people who aren't supposed to die, die!"

For a moment, Sam almost agreed to let Harry go.

Harry took that moment, and apparated out of the panic room.

* * *

**November, 2006; 3:45 PM  
Bernstein Suite  
Hotel de Crillon, Paris, France**

Harry popped into his room with a weary sigh. He dropped his devil's pouch on the nightstand and disrobed. He was in the mood for a nice, hot bath. The raven-haired boy quickly arranged his features into the blond-haired, Australian billionaire that the maids thought occupied this suite. Walking into the grand bathroom, Harry turned on the faucet, letting the warm water rush into the tub. Ignoring the tug he felt on his magic, Harry stepped into the warm bath. Letting himself relax, Harry closed his eyes and let out a breath. This was nice.

Of course, Harry's small moment of tranquility was interrupted by the sound of someone entering his room. Harry tensed, and lowered himself into the bathtub, out of view. Harry closed his eyes, and suddenly, sent a beam of magic towards the intruder, entrapping them. Pulling himself out of the warm water and wrapping a towel around his waist, Harry took in the sight his intruder. It was an unknown face, but Harry knew it was someone from the Ministry of Magic. They had the tell-tale uniform.

With a sigh, Harry quickly Accio-ed his devil's pouch and apparted out of his much loved suite in Paris.

Where to go now?


End file.
